


Companions React to the Sole Survivor Kicking Ass in High Heels

by tea_petty



Series: Collection of Companions' Reactions [30]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Action, F/F, High Heels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 04:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Anything you can do I can do better...(in high heels.)





	Companions React to the Sole Survivor Kicking Ass in High Heels

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr: tea-petty

Sole’s breath turned to lead in her throat, and she supposed that she could at least be grateful for the extreme viscosity of it; without the movement of air, she was much less likely to be heard by the hoard of raiders that lurked on the other side of the upturned vending machine she and Curie huddled behind. 

Hey, maybe she’d suffocate before the raiders could get to her; silver linings and whatever bullshit, right?

Sole brought her legs in so that they folded against her body, if only to make herself feel more hidden. She glanced over to her partner, who looked about as panicked as Sole felt. Her eyes were wide, and her chest heaved with miraculously silent, frantic breaths. 

If anyone was choking on their stale, frozen air, it wasn’t her.

Brownie points to her, Sole thought. They hadn’t been traveling together long, but this was a first for her, and so it was most likely a first for Curie as well. That was, being this outnumbered, in the midst of a raider camp in which said raiders had heard a twig crack, and instead of shrinking closer into their huddled circle-jerk formation, they got up and investigated, drawing closer and closer to where Curie and Sole hid with each painstaking, answering, footstep.

_If we were the dumb girls in horror movies, we’d be _so_ dead_, Sole thought mutinously, and then realized that in this case, she was the dumb girl, and this horror movie, was her life.

“I’m not equipped for combat,” Curie whimpered beside her, “especially in _zhis_body.”

Sole looked her compatriot’s body up and down; trading in her tough, metal shell for a soft, squishy, flesh suit had certainly been an aesthetic upgrade. Structurally? Not so much. 

“No worries, we’ll just, erhm, wing it,” Sole tried to keep her face steady, but then the scrape of a nail – one might assume hammered into the party end of a bat, a raider was wielding – against the opposite side of the upturned vending machine made her voice hitch, poking a hole in her bravado.

“Wing eet…” Curie echoed, her eyes wide with terror, they slid a sideways look over to Sole, “when do we start zhe…_ah_, winging?”

Sole’s heart thudded in her chest, with a force so intense, it could’ve been beating her to a pulp from the inside. She shook silently for a few beats, and then she swallowed the frightful paralysis that seemed to keep her rooted.

“Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose.”

Sole rose to her feet with a fluidity that made her look more serpent than woman. Curie’s eyes were glued to her partner, and a few moments later, based on the confused grunts and exclamations that could be heard at a distance, so were those of the raiders they’d been hiding from.

“Get the little bitch!”

Sole used the resistance of her heel spiked into the dirt, to pivot agilely before unslinging her gun from her back and firing a spray of bullets at the raiders that charged towards her.

“Eat this,” she muttered venomously against the vicious kickback of the gun into her shoulder. She’d definitely have a bruise there, if it didn’t take her entire arm off, that is. 

Most of the raiders went down with the first wave of bullets, but a few hit the deck in time to evade the attack, before popping up like daisies as Sole reloaded. She fumbled with her gun for but a split second before regarding the three, burly men rapidly gaining ground on her.

“Fuck it.”

Sole maneuvered her gun so that it was slung over her shoulder and out of the way again, before spreading her stance into a position that allowed her weight to be more evenly distributed. She flexed her fingers almost absentmindedly, keeping them ready and reactive to what would happen next. Then, Sole rocked forward on her feet, unsticking her heels from the dirt. 

When the first of the attackers reached her, Sole was ready; her leg came up, straight, strong, and with astounding height, before she brought her heel down hard on the broad flat of the brute’s face in a sharp axe-like motion. 

With a sickening crunching noise, he dropped like a sack of potatoes, and blood spurted from his crooked nose. 

One down, she thought, readying for her next opponent. From her peripheral vision, she could spot the dark top of Curie’s head poking out from behind the sideways vending machine, dinner plate eyes watching like she was the main character on the Saturday morning cartoons.

Sole returned her attention to the raiders just in time for another one to loom up before her. An angry puckered line scored through his left eye, he snarled in a way that was more wolf than man. 

Well, Sole thought, bad dogs were to be put down. She was more of a cat person anyways.

Sole narrowly dodged the sharp downwards motion of the crowbar he had thought to use on her. Biding her energy, she watched him recover from the effort wasted on the missed hit, before letting the stored power uncoil in her right leg and propel her upwards in a burst of motion. Using the momentum from her left leg, she swung over to twist herself in midair, using the combined force and momentum to aim what might have been a lethal blow to Mr. Naughty Dog’s face.

Sole didn’t bother to inspect her handiwork; her gut was already writhing in her as she took considerable effort to _unstick_ her heel from whatever part of the raider’s face it had stabbed into.

One to go.

Preparing herself, Sole mustered all the energy she could, letting her last opponent all but barrel into her, before suddenly sticking out her arm at neck level, and catching him by the throat. Quick as a whip, she pulled herself close, wrapping herself around him and thinking boa constrictor thoughts. She had to land some sort of incapacitating blow quickly though; her upper body strength wasn’t enough to suffocate him as it was, and she was already worn out from the 540 kick before.

From beneath a mop of bright red hair, Sole felt his throat muscles flex around his thrumming pulse. The tendons in his neck strained against her weakening grip, tight like wire. Time was very, very limited now; she’d have to take a chance.

Before she could consider it long enough to change her mind, Sole reclaimed some attention away from her grip, as one hand went for the switchblade she kept at her hip. Feeling this golden, precarious opportunity, the man in her grip reared his head against her, trying to shake her off. The arm that was still wrapped around his neck scrabbled to regain its grasp, this time, just enough to keep her from flying off of him. Her other hand already wielded the knife.

Sole gritted her teeth; her thumb missed the release button of her knife the first time, from the slickness of her sweat that coated the handle. Big Red bucked and jerked beneath her.

“Agh!-“ Sole let out a strangled scream, and felt the blade slide out with a victorious_click_.

As her grip from around the barrel chested man slipped, she brought her knife-hand up, and knowing it would be her only chance to get it right, she aimed it at wherever she felt surest she’d hit on her large, frantically moving, target.

He let out a howl of pain as the tip of the blade punctured his temple. Sole cursed though, feeling the resistance of the skull beneath. Bringing her hand back again, she slashed blindly, trying to catch a generous amount of soft tissue, as the pair of them went down as a tangled mess of limbs into the dirt, still seizing violently.

Sole pinched her eyes shut and kept with her vigorous slashing motions. She felt him contort in her arms, felt his hot, rancid breath when he screamed. A few other times, she felt the sharp sting of the blade hit her own fingers. She gripped the knife stubbornly though, through the growing slickness and sting of sweat in her wounds. 

Sole let out a primitive growl to disguise the pained whimpers in the literal face of her enemy, and only let herself collapse when he had long since stilled. Even then, she probably only ceased her fighting for the weariness his dead weight on her chest instilled in her.

Her chest heaved laboriously beneath the corpse of the final raider, and Sole pinched her eyes shut in exertion. Now that the immediate threat had been relieved, the full extent of how spent she was, hit her like an atom bomb.

The compact sound of shoes on dirt grew louder, but only a little, and Sole cracked her eyelids open in time to see Curie looming before her, blue eyes glittering excitedly even in the shadow they cast over hers and the raiders’ shapes.

“_Mon dieu_, are you alright?”

Sole leaned upwards on her elbows, attempting to sit up. She grunted when the raiders body brought her efforts to a stuttering halt.

“Get ‘im off.”

Together, the two women managed to hoist the raider’s form from atop Sole’s, leaning him forward with the stubborn resistance a crowbar met with a heavily nailed plank of wood. Eventually though, success was evident in the way his body fell forward into the dirt, rolling in a piss poor, half-somersault, never to get back up again.

Curie offered her hand to Sole but could only watch speechlessly as Sole pushed up from off the ground and rose to her full height.

The crumbled, tumultuous ground underfoot did nothing to Sole’s balance or grace, who seemed to float atop it like she walked on clouds. The sun and wind caught in her hair, winking back fiery winces of light, and tossing locks this way and that. Smears of mud, blood, and the shadows of bruising seemed to pale to the glow in her skin, and the fire in her eyes as they scanned the immediate area for any other bodies to add to the count. 

This woman didn’t survive the apocalypse; she _was_ the apocalypse.

Curie was entranced, and when she swallowed, her throat was tight, and she tasted the desert. 

Magnificent. And even that failed to do her just.

Pride, envy, and something else Curie was still too inexperienced with to name, welled in her chest, splitting the muscle and straining against the fibers. The impact of the sensation almost sent Curie down to sleep with the dead raiders too, but then Sole turned her molten gaze to her, and new life sprang into her numbed limbs. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Curie answered weakly.

“Alright then,” Sole extended her hand out to the synth in offering, “let’s go.”


End file.
